Chapter 2

I returned from the supplier meeting in Portland, the signed hops contract safely in my briefcase.

It was a small victory, but a necessary one.

The brewery was quiet when I walked in, too quiet for a weekday afternoon.

Then I saw it.

My old office, the larger one with the view of the creek, the one Olivia had insisted I keep as founder even when she became CEO, was transformed.

It was a makeshift nursery.

A crib stood where my antique oak desk used to be. A changing table, overflowing with diapers and wipes, sat against the wall.

Pastel-colored mobiles dangled from the light fixture.

And photos, dozens of them, of Olivia, Mark, and their new baby, plastered everywhere.

Mark was in there, cooing at the infant in the crib.

A few sycophantic marketing assistants hovered nearby, offering unsolicited parenting advice.

"Oh, Mr. Sterling, he has your eyes!" one gushed.

Mark beamed, then spotted me in the doorway.

"Ethan! Back already?" he said, his voice dripping with false bonhomie. "Sorry about the mess. Had to make a little space for the new boss." He winked, gesturing at the baby.

My actual office, I soon discovered, was now a cramped, windowless room next to the roaring fermentation tanks, the air thick with the smell of yeast.

"And sorry you had to pick up my slack with that hops deal," Mark continued, strolling out of the nursery-office, his eyes fixed on my briefcase. "Things have been a bit… hectic here."

He reached for the briefcase. "Let me see that contract. I' ll file it with legal."

I pulled it back. "I' ll handle it."

His smile tightened. "Don' t be like that, Ethan. We' re a team."

Right then, the baby in the other room let out a piercing wail.

Mark, with a theatrical sigh, said, "Duty calls."

He darted back into the office, then, with a sudden, clumsy movement, he "accidentally" knocked over a stack of formula cans near the door as he re-emerged.

The cans clattered, the baby screamed louder, and Mark, feigning panic, flailed, knocking my open briefcase off the small table I' d momentarily rested it on.

The hops contract spilled out, right into a puddle of milk from an overturned bottle that had also been part of the chaos.

The ink ran, the paper buckled. Ruined.

"Oh, Ethan, look what you did!" one of the assistants cried, rushing to Mark' s side. "You startled the baby, and now look at this mess!"

Mark looked at me, a mask of concern. "Don' t worry, Ethan. I' ll try to smooth things over with the supplier."

The memory of Olivia' s cheerful voice echoed in my head. "Go on that trip, Ethan! Explore those new markets in Arizona! It' ll be great for the brewery!"

That was right after Mark was hired.

I' d returned three weeks later to find them married, her pregnant, and Mark installed as COO.

She' d signed that share transfer agreement so readily before I left.

Not out of trust for the "loan," but to get me out of her hair, to clear the path for her new life.

The anger, cold and sharp, finally broke through my stoicism.

On my old desk, now Mark' s changing table, lay a soiled diaper.

I picked it up.

Mark was preening, accepting sympathies from the staff for the "stress" I' d caused.

I walked over to him and, without a word, tossed the wet, smelly diaper directly onto the lapel of his expensive Italian suit.

He yelped, jumping back as a dark stain bloomed on the fabric.

"What the hell, Ethan?"

"Just cleaning up your mess," I said, my voice flat.

Then I turned and walked out of the brewery, ignoring the gasps and Mark' s sputtering rage.

My next stop was the Secretary of State' s office.

As I waited for the clerk to process the notarized share transfer agreement, my phone buzzed. Olivia.

"Ethan! What in God' s name did you do to Mark? He' s furious! And throwing diapers? Are you insane?"

I looked at the official stamp hitting the paper. "Just signing an agreement, Olivia."

"Oh," her tone shifted instantly, becoming patronizing. "Another deal? Good boy, Ethan. Knew I could count on you to keep the money flowing for us. Mark will be so pleased once he calms down."

I hung up.

She had no idea the agreement I was signing was her eviction notice.